


Chrysalis

by natsubaki



Series: Root and Branch [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Eggpreg, Falling In Love, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Memory Loss, Mpreg, Tokyo Ghoul: re, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are in this together.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4886905">Cicada</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

He’s just thrown up. Sasaki hovers, miserable and aching, over the edge of the toilet. The water in the bowl still swishes about from the last flush, and Sasaki has to close his eyes lest the light reflecting off its surface brings on a second round of sickness.

It’s getting old. At this rate, he’ll have seen more of Tsukiyama’s bathroom than the man himself this past week. And quite frankly, he’s getting...well, sick of being sick. Groaning, Sasaki pulls himself up and swallows his nausea. His stomach growls uncomfortably. The CCG supplies him with a stew of some sort twice a month, and usually that’s enough to keep him sated and strong, but in this moment, Sasaki could devour an entire pot of it and still not be satisfied.

And then promptly vomit it all up. Probably, with the way he’s been feeling lately. Sasaki knows he needs to eat—his body is telling him so—yet the mere thought of food is repulsive.

Oddly, the only time he feels even remotely better is when he’s around Tsukiyama. There’s something about his presence that’s as good as medicine, helping to alleviate the constant queasiness in Sasaki’s stomach and leading him to following the man around his apartment like a second shadow. It’s comical, but at least Tsukiyama doesn’t seem to mind when Sasaki ends up flopped over on him on the couch or pathetically trailing behind him in the kitchen.

It’s where he finds him when Sasaki finally emerges from the bathroom. Tsukiyama looks up from the newspaper spread flat on the countertop, mug perched at his lips. Sasaki can smell the coffee, acidic and bright, from across the room. He wrinkles his nose.

“Better?” Tsukiyama inquires as he refolds the paper. He’s reading the business section again; Sasaki notices that he rarely pays attention to the other sections.

Shuffling over, Sasaki sidles up to Tsukiyama and presses his face into the man’s shoulder. He smells so nice—like a field of wildflowers and warm spice. It reminds him of how they first met. Sasaki lets out a long groan and shakes his head, burrowing further into Tsukiyama’s side, feeling so childish.

A cool hand threads through his bangs and pushes them back, palm resting on his forehead. Sasaki leans into the touch unconsciously. This is something Sasaki appreciates about the other ghoul: he allows Sasaki his space, yet when they’re together, he’s considerate to the point of cautiousness, but without being suffocating. It’s what Sasaki wants right now. He doesn’t have memories of parents or a family, and although he’s made something like a facsimile through his colleagues at work, he can’t picture any of them ever taking care of him like this. He imagines this must be how a child would be doted upon: reassuring touches and kind gazes. It makes him want to indulge in neediness and selfishness, although he’s usually the one playing the role of self-sufficient caretaker.

He peeks up as Tsukiyama’s hand retracts. “You’re burning up,” Tsukiyama announces, his brows drawing together. “And you’re pale…” He turns Sasaki’s face from side to side at the chin then taps at the corner of his own lips, expression pinched. Is it really that much cause for concern? Sure, this illness has persisted for a few days now, but it’s more annoying than anything else. Sasaki is certain he’ll recover in no time, with enough sleep and adequate fluid intake.

His vision blurs, a low ringing traveling through his ears.

“It’s too soon for…” Sasaki isn’t certain whether he missed the rest of that sentence, or if Tsukiyama never finished it.

His fingers flex in the fabric of Tsukiyama’s shirt and dig in. Sasaki tugs as hard as he can, which isn’t much, but it’s enough to pull Tsukiyama out of his thoughts. The nausea is returning, and Sasaki isn’t sure if he can manage speech without ending up kneeling in front of the toilet again. An arm clutches around his waist, reining him in, and together they cross the short distance to Tsukiyama’s bedroom. Shrugging off Tsukiyama’s attempts to help him out of his clothes, Sasaki crawls underneath the sheets and curls up into himself. A heavy blanket follows, pulled up to his chin and tucked under his sides. The bed dips by his head, and there are gentle fingers combing through his hair. He falls asleep quickly, wrapped up in Tsukiyama’s familiar scent.

 

It’s almost too far-fetched to believe. The blood drains from Sasaki’s cheeks, coldness sliding down his neck like drops off melting icicles. “Are you certain?”

“The test is conclusive,” Tsukiyama says, his voice even. His face wears a neutral mask, the first time in the two months that Sasaki has known him that the other has appeared guarded. “I can call the doctor back for a second test, if you would like to reconfirm the results.”

“No, that’s…” Truthfully, it’s not as great of a surprise as it should be, all things considered. Sasaki had felt it internally—noticed that something had changed, ever since that spring day. But he’d shaken his worries off and had returned to work, the suspicion receding and eventually forgotten with the passing days. And then he’d gotten sick.

His hand absently cradles the crook of his arm where the doctor had drawn blood. “But...how is this even possible?”

Tsukiyama remains seated in place on the couch. He looks at Sasaki as though he were dealing with a wounded animal. Too cautious. Placating. Sasaki wonders what kind of face he must be making. “Do you want to know what I think?”

Sasaki nods. Words fail him.

“You were born human and made into a ghoul, were you not?” he asks, to which Sasaki nods again. Tsukiyama laces his fingers together; they hang between his knees, elbows tucked in and resting atop his thighs. “Most likely, the kakuhou you received was from a female ghoul. The operation must have changed more of your biology than just giving you a kagune.” He looks up and stares directly into Sasaki’s eyes. Sasaki can’t discern anything from them—it’s as though the person sitting across from him is more of a stranger than when they had first encountered one another. “Only female ghouls go into heat.”

He wants to laugh, but nothing comes up. It would be his luck that something like this would happen to him: it’s beyond reason, so naturally it would become a chapter in his absurd story. None of Sasaki’s life that he has known of has made sense.

The least of all his relationship with the other man in the room.

Sasaki looks back. Returns that same piercing gaze as the pieces fall into place. “You knew, didn’t you.”

“I had suspected something, yes.” When Sasaki remains silent, Tsukiyama continues. He looks away. “This is the first time I’ve experienced a partner in heat.”

He can’t take this; it’s too much to process. Finding comfort in motion, in asserting _some_ form of control over his body, Sasaki paces. Tsukiyama’s eyes trail him as he loops around the room in mute circuits.

The time they had spent together, losing themselves, giving into what his body had desired...days bleeding into nights. Quelling the fire that had threatened to consume him by taking refuge in acts of intimacy. Every action bears consequences.

“Well, what do we do now?” Sasaki asks, because he honestly doesn’t know. By all laws of nature, this _shouldn’t_ be possible. He doesn’t know the first thing about his...condition.

“Nothing.”

The succinctness of the answer stops him mid-stride. “Nothing?” Sasaki parrots, because it’s as stupid as it sounds.

“We do what we can,” Tsukiyama reasons. He’s like a statue on that couch, lifeform turned to stone. Sasaki had read about such a phenomenon before, in myths and fables. A fate that had befallen those who had wronged the gods in some fashion or who had disregarded rules or failed to heed warnings.

But this is no punishment.

“We wait.”

“I’m _pregnant_ , Tsukiyama-san,” Sasaki says, a hint of acid tinging his words. He doesn’t mean it, but he’s reaching the end of his rope for the day. Maybe for the next several days. It’s bizarre to voice it so directly. Nothing feels real. “I didn’t even know this could happen to me, but…” His hand rests against his lower abdomen, an instinctual response. It shouldn’t be so automatic.

It breaks the spell. Tsukiyama smiles, more sad than joyful. It makes Sasaki want to cry, even more so than the life-altering news he’d just received hours before. “I will take care of you. And our child.”

He feels another bout of nausea, although he’s uncertain whether it’s a natural reaction or due to the situation at hand.

“Please trust me.”

 

Summer arrives. Sasaki spends more of his time at Tsukiyama’s than at the château, although strangely, no one seems to question it. It’s not like he’s slacking on his duties or anything: the Quinx remain well-fed and trained to the best of his ability, and meetings and sparring sessions are still conducted as regularly scheduled. Sasaki is just not home as much on some nights and most weekends. Shirazu had slapped him on his back and grinned when he’d figured out the pattern, pleased that their mentor had finally landed a girlfriend. Sasaki had given him a thin-lipped smile yet hadn’t felt the need to correct him.

He feels the drain on his body, although he’s only three months along. He tires more easily, and his stamina has taken a huge hit. Sleeping all the time is preferable yet unrealistic—he has a job, duties, expectations. The child within him is rapidly developing. If he allows his thoughts to linger on it for too long, anxiety creeps in and fills him with dread, but Sasaki knows he can’t keep ignoring the changes. He’s already beginning to show.

They are in this together. From the start, it’s just been them. Tsukiyama pulls Sasaki onto his lap, a rare moment to enjoy one another. A finger hooks into the knot of Sasaki’s thin white tie, dragging it down and off Sasaki’s collar. Kisses are planted underneath Sasaki’s jaw, down the column of his neck, leaving him trembling and breathless. Tsukiyama unfastens each button of Sasaki’s shirt with deliberation, lips lightly meeting flesh with each small expanse of new exposure. Over the heart. At the crest of Sasaki’s slightly-swollen stomach.

“What will happen?” Sasaki asks, but doesn’t say “to me.” Because what’s happening is more than just the physical. His palms run along the top of Tsukiyama’s shoulders, back and forth.

Tsukiyama hums as his fingertips caress the small bump. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Sasaki has never seen before: it clears away some of the darkness the other often carries. “Gestation is similar to that of humans, but slightly accelerated. An egg will be birthed first, and the child will continue to develop within it until it hatches.”

“An egg?”

The hands have moved to his hips. Sasaki sits back and leans into the hold. “Yes. Strange, is it not?” Tsukiyama chuckles. “When the kakuhou starts to develop, the weight of the organ and excess Rc cells becomes too much of a strain upon the carrier’s body. So the child is delivered first to allow it to finish developing without being such a burden on the mother. As you can imagine, it’s why ghouls are always home-birthed, aside from other tell-tale giveaways.”

Tsukiyama is smiling; it’s the first full smile that Sasaki has seen upon his face. It’s radiant. A weight, heavy and unrelenting, settles in his heart. “I’m sorry,” Sasaki murmurs as he threads his fingers into Tsukiyama’s hair. The other looks up at him, quizzical. “I’m trapping you.”

Sasaki wants to laugh, despite himself and their pitiful situation. If Tsukiyama continues to frown so much, he’s sure to sprout some wrinkles. They’re both too young for that. The grip on his hips tightens. “I want you,” Tsukiyama says, and there’s so much conviction in his voice that Sasaki’s eyes begin to sting. “I want this.”

“You wanted this with who I was.” He’s stabbing them both through the heart. It’s the truth. Tsukiyama’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. Sasaki gives Tsukiyama a smile of his own, but he recognizes the sorrow that lies behind it. “Don’t lie to me,” he says. It is not an accusation; there is no venom in his request. It’s not Tsukiyama’s fault. He traces fingertips over Tsukiyama’s brow. “I may not remember you fully, but I know you knew him. He probably loved you, too.”

“And you?” Tsukiyama counters, “Do you love me?”

A simple question that possesses so much destructive power. The skin at the back of Sasaki’s neck prickles, his cheeks growing hot. He has only known this man for a short time. He slips into silence.

Tsukiyama bends forward and presses his cheek against Sasaki’s chest. Sasaki’s heart skips a beat—he feels it all the way to his throat. It’s like it wants to answer for him. Arms fully encircle around his waist. “You are my future,” Tsukiyama begins, and Sasaki wishes he could see Tsukiyama’s face, “You were also my past. It doesn’t matter to me. The question is, does it matter to you?”

He doesn’t know what words to say. His mind is a sieve riddled with large holes. Nothing catches.

It _should_ matter, shouldn’t it? Soon, the irreversible will come to pass: a child will enter into their lives. It deserves so much more than what they can offer.

Sasaki chooses not to hide behind carefully-crafted statements. He presents Tsukiyama with honesty, because it’s all Sasaki has right now, and it’s what Tsukiyama deserves. “We only just met not too long ago.” Tsukiyama’s hair is so soft. Sasaki hopes their child will inherit it. “And now this. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be here when you figure it out,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll always be with you, as long as you wish it.”

There’s something familiar hidden within those words. A bedroom filled with sunlight, books, and regret. Fear of himself and another. A peculiar comfort. He feels lightheaded.

“Take me to bed,” Sasaki whispers.

 

A torrent of concerns crashes down onto him like a plague. Normally, sleeping in Tsukiyama’s bed renders him unconscious within minutes, but tonight, Sasaki lies awake with his thoughts and heart racing. Tsukiyama embraces him from behind, his low breathing steady and regular, tickling against his nape.

Sasaki recites the facts in his head. He is an artificial half-ghoul, changed against his will. The whereabouts of the doctor who did this to him are unknown. He is a First Class Investigator with the Commission of Counter Ghoul. He does not have any memories prior to the past three years. He is currently harboring the identity of a ghoul, which is a violation of Article 119 of the Ghoul Countermeasures Law. It merits capital punishment. He has conceived a child with said ghoul. His body is no longer his own. His body has not been his for a very long time.

He won’t be able to hide this for much longer. If they find out, the CCG will start asking questions. How? By whom? For how long? There will be more experiments. Tests, prodding, and perhaps even surgeries. They will surely want the baby, if they don’t kill it first.

A choice must be made. It will decide the entirety of the rest of his life. But the fact of the matter is, Sasaki feels safe here. Like he belongs. Like someone loves him. And that someone would love the child, too. Sasaki grits his teeth and suppresses the wave of distress that prowls at the corner of his mind, seeking to overwhelm him.

Should he trust his instincts? For better or for worse, they had led him here.

But it also means...leaving the comfort of the only life he’s known (that he, Sasaki Haise, aged twenty-three, can remember). Turning his back on everyone who has come to depend on him. Betraying the generosity of the people and the organization that had taken him in and given him purpose. Diving head-first into uncharted waters, with a stranger by his side.

 _His_ stranger.

Tsukiyama’s hand lingers on his stomach. Sasaki grasps it in his own and presses it against his navel. Within his hold lies life and death.

In the next season, he will become a mother. He longs for memories of his own, but there’s nothing there—not even the hint of a face. Does he resemble her at all, or does he look more like his father? Is she still alive? And if so, is she looking for him, or does she think her son is dead? Would she think him a freak if she saw him now and knew? It’s such a lonely train of thought to go down, but Sasaki yearns to know. He wishes he could sit down with her and learn what she had felt when she had first laid eyes on him, first held him. What his first words had been. What her hopes and dreams for him had been. It’s unlikely that he will ever find out.

With some difficulty, he manages to turn around. Sasaki stares at Tsukiyama’s sleeping face in the dim light of the bedroom. It’s filled out now: his cheeks aren’t as hollow, cheekbones not as sharp. His skin is smooth, and his hair has regained some luster. One day, he would like to see pictures of Tsukiyama’s parents...perhaps meet them, if it’s a possibility. Tsukiyama looks healthier since their first meeting. Sasaki doesn’t want to think about the implications of that.

There is an absolute truth that has always existed yet he has refused to acknowledge. “Sasaki Haise” may be an investigator, but he is ultimately a ghoul. He will be eliminated once he has outlived his usefulness.

Sasaki leans in and touches their foreheads together. Inhales and shares in Tsukiyama’s breath. The taking and giving of life. His heart is contained in a too-small cage. In time, it will surely burst. He shifts closer and matches his lips with Tsukiyama’s in a chaste meeting. Tsukiyama sighs and pulls him in. Sasaki wants to open himself again, take Tsukiyama within him, but he is too exhausted—mentally and physically—to initiate anything.

A sense of calm washes over him. His heartbeat slows, and his eyelids feel heavy. Sleep finally claims him.

 

Sasaki meets himself this time. A youth with black hair and a medical eyepatch is pouring coffee beans from a large burlap sack into glass canisters. “Oh, you’re here,” he chirps as he looks up from behind the counter. The coffee shop is quaint, accented by warm wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling windows. When the jar is full, he places the sack on the ground and slaps his hands against his long apron.

He looks so innocent. Sasaki can’t believe this is the person he used to be. The other leans back against the sink behind the bar and observes Sasaki for a while. “If you’re asking for my opinion, then I guess I’d say this is a shot at your own family,” he notes, crossing his arms before scratching at his chin. “A real family. Yeah. Doesn’t that sound great?” He smiles; it looks natural on him. Sasaki can’t help but mourn for this child.

They’re standing on a rooftop. It’s nighttime, and the sky is clear above them. Sasaki can’t spot any stars at all. The other him has white hair and is dressed completely in black. He looks like he stepped out from a nightmare, his face covered by a leather ghoul mask that’s all teeth pulled into a grimace. He’s staring over the ledge of the building, down onto the streets below.

He turns around. His kakugan is activated, vivid and angry against a patch of ashen skin. Although Sasaki fears this incarnation, there’s a vulnerability behind those tired eyes that he longs to protect. “Don’t repeat my mistakes,” the other says before jumping.

A woman from the edge of his memories sits across from him. There’s a small stack of books between them on the table. She’s sitting back in her seat, legs crossed, and swirling her coffee around in its cup. Her long purple hair is swept over her shoulder and rests against her bosom. She eyes Sasaki over the rim of her cherry-colored glasses. She’s very pretty, but Sasaki can tell her smile hides something sinister.

She tilts her head back and laughs: it’s delicate and does not match her disposition. It sets Sasaki on edge—like he’s watching a cat play with its kill. “Don’t waste what I’ve given you,” she leers, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

The dream ends.

 

Sasaki watches from across the counter as Tsukiyama pours a thin stream of steaming water in concentric circles. The motion nags at the outskirts of his brain, his eyes following along the water’s path as it blooms the grounds within the filter.

“Are you hungry?” Tsukiyama asks, to which Sasaki automatically shakes his head. The nausea has passed, but he doesn’t want to leave anything to chance. If he can manage spending the day without ending up perched in front of the toilet, then Sasaki will consider it a good day.

Tsukiyama sighs, setting the kettle down before removing the brewer from atop the mug. He sniffs the coffee then slides it over to Sasaki, pleased by its aroma. He repeats the process with a new mug. “You’ll need to eat more. I don’t know if you can get by on whatever they feed you.”

Using the sleeves of his shirt as a buffer to wrap his hands around the hot mug (Tsukiyama’s shirts are so comfortable, but he practically swims in them), Sasaki lifts it up and blows at the dark liquid’s surface. It smells wonderful, which is a pleasant surprise. Progress. He takes a sip—it tastes just as wonderful, too. Perhaps he’s overcome the worst of it, for now.

Tsukiyama is right, of course...but… Sasaki knows what he needs to do. He’s not sure if he’s ready, or if he’ll ever be ready. There are some things in life for which one cannot prepare.

“I can’t stay here,” he says, clutching his mug tighter. His fingertips slip from the safety of his shirtsleeves and burn against the ceramic. He stares into his cup, watching the coffee ripple as his hands shake. His reflection sways and dissolves before reforming.

When Sasaki looks up, Tsukiyama isn’t looking at him. He’s biting at the side of his cheek, his jaw muscles flexing, and his eyes have clouded with that gloom he’s always seemed to carry. “I see,” he replies, his face relaxing, that neutral mask repositioning itself. Even heartbroken, Tsukiyama is still so beautiful.

“Will you take responsibility?”

“Hm?” There’s a flicker behind the wall that Tsukiyama is fast constructing. Sasaki repeats himself. The mask melts into a frown of incomprehension.

He sets his mug down. Readjusts the falling shirt around his shoulders and places his hands in his lap. “Like you said. I’ll need to eat more,” Sasaki explains, “But I can’t stay where I am. I don’t know what they’ll do to me when they find out.” He stares into Tsukiyama’s eyes, feeling like a deity charging an unsuspecting mortal upon a perilous quest. Life isn’t fair, but perhaps they can trick it if they’re together. “So will you take responsibility?”

Tsukiyama opens his mouth and then closes it. The small wrinkle returns between his eyebrows. He is still guarded, a knight in defensive stance. “Of course. This is your decision?”

Sasaki slides off his barstool and rounds the counter, padding into the kitchen. The tile chills his bare feet. Tsukiyama does not move. Sasaki envelops him in his arms, his belly pressing against the curve of Tsukiyama’s spine. The other man tenses before relaxing. Sasaki holds onto him tighter, nuzzling against his shoulder blades. “It’s not just… I also want this. Us,” he murmurs, “I may not remember, and we might just be getting to know one another, but it feels right. I can’t deny that. So…”

He pulls back but keeps his arms around the other. Tsukiyama twists within the hold and returns Sasaki’s gaze. Searches. Sasaki smiles. It feels like the one he’d found within his dream.

“Start thinking about a name.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty rare that I write sequels, but this idea came to me one night before bed and wouldn't leave me alone. To everyone who had wanted to see the continuation of _Cicada_ , thank you - I hope you enjoyed this!


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